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May 6, 2012

Here’s a poem about my gut reactions and how fucking stupid and jealous they are. Not one of my best, but eh.

Spent Youth

That's you at 20.
Right there.
Emptying without asking,
I see you,
at 20,
and I have to look away
from words bouncing into rods and cones.

I'm not going to say "mistake"
because that's stupid.
Your life, your body,
and all that entails.
Why not have fun?
Three ways in a work environment
while the boss is away
and alcohol to finish the night,
inherently, there is nothing
wrong
perse.

But I yell.
Do better for yourself!
Focus!
I shake that cane and grumble,
pacing before keyboard,
knocking over objects in frustration.
You hear nothing, of course.
I'm polite in words typed.
But I'm frustrated,
mind convinced you're ruining
something
for someone,
target unknown.

I could never have
done
all that.
So clearly
clearly
it must be wrong.